


hair today

by schittyfic (sixtysevenlmpala)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: (a sprinkling of), Dirty Talk, Fluff, Haircuts, Hand Jobs, Husbands, Just the context of a lockdown, M/M, Mirror Sex, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Quarantine, Takes place in 2020 but no real mention of The Bad Thing, Tender - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27783649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/schittyfic
Summary: David’s suspicious eyes dart between Patrick and the box on their kitchen counter. “Um. What - why, what are you planning on doing with that?”“I’m gonna cut your hair, David.”“Okay, you areabsolutelynot.”Or: not being able to get a haircut during lockdown is slowly driving David insane. Patrick is nothing if not a problem-solver.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 40
Kudos: 308





	hair today

**Author's Note:**

> This is extremely self-indulgent. Also, it was originally going to be G-rated, but we all know the kind of person I am.
> 
> Ty to the Rosebudd for general cheerleading and endless reference photos, and to Januarium for saving my ass with the punny title.
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Patrick glances at his husband, standing beside him in line for the checkout. He’s fussing with his hair for what might be the tenth time since they entered the grocery store, flicking his head and impatiently swiping his hand over his forehead to try to tamp down those stray strands which just won’t stay put. Patrick can’t see it behind his fabric mask, but he can perfectly picture the thin, tight line his mouth is making right now. 

It’s been two weeks of this. As far as Patrick knows, David hasn’t missed his monthly hair appointment since he first moved to Schitt’s Creek. He’d held out desperately for an extra week in the hopes of finding a salon which offered the right kind of Brazilian blowout, before finally giving in and settling. This is certainly the longest he’s ever gone without a trim in his life, though; the grocery store is pretty much their prime destination at the moment, with everywhere else closed in a local lockdown. 

Patrick actually _likes_ it - he likes swirling his fingers through the tufts at the back of his neck, likes the natural curl which seems to spring out as it grows longer, likes the untidy, tousled look of his hair falling into his face. He’s grateful for his own mask hiding his smile as a lock of hair falls stubbornly over David’s forehead again, and David mutters a curse as he brushes it away. Oh, Patrick thinks it’s absolutely adorable - but he can see it’s driving David insane, and Patrick also does not want to be around when he eventually implodes over this.

As David drives them back, Patrick’s got one hand resting on his thigh while the other scrolls through Amazon, tapping in an order before they’re halfway home.

*

Three days later, a package arrives.

“Oooh, is it something _exciting?_ ” David asks with a shimmy of his shoulders, watching Patrick open it up.

“You could say that.” Patrick casually rips open the packaging and reads out the title of the listing from the delivery note. “It’s a: ‘Hair Clippers and Hair Cutting Scissors Set Professional Hair Trimmer Set Cordless Rechargeable LED Display Five Speed Adjustment Electric Hair Clippers with Six Guide Combs’.”

David’s suspicious eyes dart between Patrick and the box on their kitchen counter. “Um. What - why, what are you planning on doing with that?”

“I’m gonna cut your hair, David.”

“Okay, you are _absolutely_ not.”

Patrick nods decisively, placing his hands on his hips and watching every muscle in David’s face scrunch up tight. “Everything could be shut down for another month, at least. Are you telling me you can survive that long?”

David grimaces, absently running his hand through the outgrown hair at the back of his head. “Yes.” The word is forced out from behind gritted teeth.

“This morning, you threatened to rip your hair from your scalp because you had a flick at the back.”

“ _Okay_ , but - unless you’re about to tell me you minored in hairdressing, I’m going to respectfully assume you have no fucking idea what you’re doing. _This_ \--” David gestures to his hair, “-- is not a _beginner’s haircut_.”

Patrick shrugs, a faux-confident look on his face. “I watched some YouTube tutorials.”

David closes his eyes, tilting his face to the heavens and mouthing the words _‘YouTube tutorials’_.

Patrick steps forward and cups his face with both hands, bringing him back down to look at him. “I know how stressed you are about it. I don’t like seeing you uncomfortable. Let me help.”

David rolls his eyes hard enough that his entire head rolls too, but he’s tucking a smile away at the corner of his mouth. “Oh my God - _fine_. But if it’s bad, I’m not leaving the house for at least four weeks.”

“You know we’re barely leaving the house as is, right? That’s sort of the idea.” Patrick grins, pecks him on the nose. “Besides, anything I do has gotta be better than that mullet starting to grow in at the back there.”

David gives an affronted gasp and shoves at Patrick’s chest, glaring at him over his shoulder as he stalks out of the room, Patrick’s unbridled laughter echoing after him.

*

David looks small and anxious and very, very cute. He’s sitting on a chair in the middle of their bathroom, facing the mirror and shrouded in a large towel, and his hair’s wet, slicked back into a flatter approximation of his usual quiff. Patrick has carefully laid out each and every item from the box he bought next to the sink: a long, sharp pair of scissors; a slightly weirder-looking pair of scissors which the internet has reliably told him are for _thinning and blending_ ; clippers with a bunch of different sized guards; and a comb. He’s ninety percent confident that he knows what a comb is for, at least.

“I hope you realise how much trust I’m placing in you right now.”

Patrick smiles and tilts his chin up for a kiss, soft and sweet. “I know that. And thank you for trusting me.”

“Do you have reference photos?”

“David,” Patrick laughs. “We’ve been married over a year. I’ve seen you almost every day since I met you. I know what your hair looks like.”

“Yep. Mhm.” David nods a few times, then whips out his phone and pulls up a specifically curated folder of selfies and candid photos (mostly taken by Patrick), all of which happen to showcase his perfectly-styled hair from a variety of angles. “Well - I’ll just leave that open on the counter, there. Just in case.”

“Okay, David.”

Patrick grabs a smaller towel and gently massages David’s hair, drying it from wet to damp and leaving him looking scruffier than before. David frowns into the mirror at the tufts sticking up wildly, but his head presses back into Patrick’s hands, tilting into the gentle scrubbing through the towel. He picks up the towel and gently combs it all out nice and straight, pressing a little kiss to the nape of his neck, and David lets out a quiet sigh.

Patrick swallows against the nervousness creeping up his throat. He’s teased David in the last week or so, barely hiding his amusement as he gets more and more irritated at the state of his hair, but - this is also important. David’s got this self-assured, I-know-I’m-sexy vibe to him beneath the self-deprecating humour, but it’s like a fragile house of cards, stacked up by his carefully put-together outfits and immaculate hair and skincare regimen. Patrick knows him well enough to know that when one of those things is taken from him, the whole thing tumbles, and he’s more than irritated - he’s scared. He doesn’t know how to be that confident, unapologetic person without them. 

Patrick wishes he could know how wonderful he is without all the trappings, but that’s a long time coming; he’ll happily chip away at him until the day he dies. For now, he doesn’t want David to feel insecure, or vulnerable without his usual look. He wants to do anything in his power to lighten the load on David’s shoulders - like always.

He squares his shoulders and combs the longer hair on top of David’s head forward over his eyes, and picks up the clippers, attaching the longest guard to them and experimentally switching them on. David’s shoulders tense at the buzz, and Patrick shushes him with a gentle squeeze to the back of his neck.

“Just so we’re clear - you’re definitely going to divorce me if I mess this up, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” David says with a breathy grin into the mirror, and Patrick leans in and rips the band-aid off, carving a neat strip into the thick hair at the back of his head. The world doesn’t end, so he blows out a careful breath and does it again. He leaves it purposely long, so that once he’s trimmed off the bulk of it he can go back in and _fade it_. He knows that’s a thing.

After a few minutes of careful working, David’s shoulders and the floor are littered with tufts of dark hair, and the back of his head is - well it’s _fairly_ even. It’s shorter, at least. 

“Doing okay there?” he murmurs, and there’s a beat before David answers, so he looks up at his reflection. David’s eyes are closed and his face is surprisingly relaxed, with a tiny ghost of a smile.

“Mm-hmm,” David hums. Patrick blinks, taken aback by the lack of snark and/or abject horror, and decides not to question it. 

He switches to the scissors and combs through the hair on top, sectioning out a little at the front and pulling it tight between two fingers, mentally replaying the videos in his head. Steadying his hands, he snips into the hair at an angle that’s supposed to _texturise_ it, whatever the hell that means. Patrick values his life, so he doesn’t take off a lot; an inch at the very most. Thankfully, he can still see the remnants of David’s usual cut, so once he’s made the first chop, he tries to take off the same amount from each other section as he works backwards to the crown of his head, figuring it should pretty much balance out… uh, proportionally.

Brow furrowed in concentration, Patrick runs a hand through David’s hair, trying to feel out the length of it. It’s silky and oh-so soft in the places where it’s drying, so he does it a couple more times than necessary, scritching his fingernails gently along David’s scalp. David shifts in the seat, and Patrick watches in the mirror as he swallows hard.

Huh. Interesting.

It’s a gentle yet charged quiet as Patrick continues working; the sounds of David’s measured breathing, the methodical snip _snip_ of the thinning scissors as Patrick tries to blend the sides. He’s so close to him that he can feel the warmth from the back of his neck. It’s intimate in a way Patrick hadn’t expected - not just the physical touches, but the sharing of something so private, and the blind faith in David closing his eyes and letting him do this.

He moves to kneel in front of him, setting down the scissors and instead slowly threading his fingers through the short hair at the sides. 

“What are you doing?” David whispers, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His legs part to let Patrick into his space.

“I gotta check if it’s even. The tutorials said so.” 

David snorts, but stays quiet. Patrick catches the short strands between his fingers and slides them slowly to the ends, pausing to snip off a little more on the left. David’s watching him raptly, just a hair’s breadth away; Patrick wants to kiss him, and he almost does, leaning forward and sharing a breath with him - before detouring at the last second and getting to his feet. There’s a huff from David as he moves back behind him.

“Stay still, okay? I don’t want to nick you,” Patrick murmurs as he reaches forward for the clippers, lips brushing David’s ear, and he shivers. Patrick definitely sees him shiver.

“Yep. Staying still.”

Patrick kisses behind his ear, then tugs the lobe just gently with his teeth, and David makes a soft, barely-there noise.

“Patrick.”

“I know.” Patrick can feel it too, that hoarse note to David’s voice. A pull. A want.

“Are - are you almost done?”

Patrick clicks the shorter guard size into place and starts up the clippers again. “Almost.”

David gazes at Patrick in the mirror. His eyes are wide and glinting in the way they always are before Patrick takes him to bed; full of promise and barely-concealed excitement.

Patrick wonders if he’s hard underneath the towel concealing his lap.

He shakes the thought away, swallows, and sets about neatening up the edges of David’s hair, trying his best to create a gradual fade from the bottom upwards. It doesn’t exactly work out - no matter what he does, there’s these annoying steps in length which just won’t blend together, but he feels like he’s made a valiant attempt. He’ll lose sleep over it not being perfect, already wondering where he possibly deviated from the YouTube tutorials he memorised - but, still. An attempt. 

“That’ll be a thousand bucks,” he quips, winking at David over his shoulder, but his voice is a little husky and his fingers shake as he brushes the hair from David’s neck. Some of it clings, so he leans in close to blow it loose, and David _groans_ softly as Patrick’s breath kisses his skin.

“Can you - fuck, Patrick.” David reaches back and pulls Patrick into an off-centre kiss over his shoulder, deep and urgent. Patrick goes with it instantly, letting David lick into his mouth with a searingly slow curl of his tongue. “Can you,” he says again, and Patrick nods.

“Yeah, I can, what do you need?”

David tugs the towel off to reveal a wonderful amount of olive skin, and unashamedly shoves his hand into his sweatpants to grip at the straining bulge there - _oh, yeah,_ he’s been hard this whole time, he must have been. “I’m so - oh my God, I don’t even know why, that was just so…”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick agrees hoarsely, gripping David’s shoulders and guiding him to stand up.

He kicks the chair out of the way, David laughing in surprise when it tips and clatters to the tiled floor, but Patrick barely registers it. Fitting himself snugly to David’s back, he tucks his chin over David’s shoulder and takes in the picture of both of them in the mirror. David’s hand is moving in his sweats, and he tips his head back on a quiet, needy noise.

“I’ll get you off, but you gotta look.” Patrick sucks a bruise into his shoulder as he slides the sweatpants down and replaces David’s hand with his own. “Or else how are you gonna admire my handiwork?”

“I mean - it’s not even _styled_ , so I really don’t know what the overall look is _like_ until I at least blowdry - oh!” David gasps as Patrick bites sharply at his shoulder. His eyes fly open and Patrick smiles.

“That’s it, there you go.”

Patrick sets a rhythm of slow but firm strokes, pulling right from the base _all_ the way up to twist around his head and back down again, endless and maddening and just the pace that he knows will melt David’s bones. It won’t take long, not with how rock-solid he is and how he’s already getting Patrick’s hand messy, dripping onto the counter. 

David’s lips are parted, letting out hot gasps, his nipples dark and peaked, his stomach quivering with each stroke of Patrick’s hand. Patrick presses the pad of his thumb into his slit, spreading around the slick gathering there, and David’s eyes roll back upwards and he cranes his head to mouth messily at Patrick’s lips, before he remembers and struggles to fixate them on the reflection again.

“Yeah, David, that’s so good. Don’t look at me, look at you.” Patrick mouths the words against David’s neck more than says them, but he can tell David hears, his eyes reluctantly dragging over to his own face, glancing down to his thick cock sliding through Patrick’s fist again and again. “Look how hard you are, you’re dripping all over my fist. You’re so good, letting me do that for you. Giving that to me.” 

“Yes, fuck, yes. I - I liked it, I liked letting you. Felt like --” 

He breaks off, one hand scrabbling at Patrick’s neck to pull him impossibly closer, and Patrick gives his cock an encouraging squeeze. “Hmm?”

“Like - like you could have hurt me, but I knew you wouldn’t. Like I could just drift away and let you take care of me.”

Patrick’s heart flips. His cock twitches in his shorts, but he ignores it. “Fuck, yeah. I know. I know, David.”

David whines, trying to fuck into Patrick’s hand, and Patrick just crowds him in further so his thighs are trapped between the counter and Patrick’s body. He grabs uselessly at the counter and Patrick’s arm and anywhere he can reach, searching for leverage; his whole body is squirming to get _more_ , and Patrick feels it too, that heady want for _closer_ . He’s pressing up behind him like he wants to climb inside and live there, grinding his cock into the curve of his ass, panting into his ear. “Patrick, _ohmygod_ , make me come, I wanna come, I need it,” David gasps.

“Yeah, I’m gonna give it to you.” Patrick tangles his free hand into David’s still-damp hair, tugging and twisting, dislodging some stray snippets of cut hair as he does. “God, you’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful, David, I love looking at you. You’ve done so well, sat there so nice and patient, and now you’re gonna come all over that mirror. Aren’t you?”

David moans and trembles and his eyes flutter closed but Patrick can’t reprimand him for it because he’s shooting spurts of come onto the glass just like Patrick told him to, whimpering a rush of _thankyouthankyoufuckyesthankyou_. Patrick takes the full weight of him, holding him up as he makes a mess of Patrick’s hand and the countertop and the fucking scissors which Patrick didn’t move far enough away.

When he’s done, he meets Patrick’s gaze with a dopey, dazed smile. “Um - do I tip extra for that, or…?”

*

Patrick’s propped up in bed with a book open on his lap, but he can’t concentrate on it. His fingers tap out a nervous rhythm against the cover as he listens to the steady whine of the blow-dryer behind the closed bathroom door. It stops, and there’s a long, long silence.

“What’s the verdict?” he calls, unable to wait any longer. 

The door clicks open softly and David walks out, smoothing a careful hand over his coiffed hair. It looks - well, to Patrick it looks _incredible_. Okay, maybe if he squints, there’s some uneven layers in there, and he knows without inspecting it that the front is definitely better than the back. But overall, he’s very impressed with himself.

David clears his throat and purses his lips before speaking. Patrick’s heart is in his mouth.

“It’s acceptable.”

Patrick grins and closes the book to open his arms to his husband, who somewhat begrudgingly crawls onto the bed and snuggles into him. Patrick passes a hand through David’s hair, admiring his own work. “You know, we could save a _lot_ on outgoing expenses if I just cut your hair every month.”

There’s a pause. Patrick tries not to laugh. “Fuck off, honey.”

He does laugh, then. “Love you too, David.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! As always, please feel free to leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed. I love hearing from you guys. <3


End file.
